Now comes the chapter I bet a bunch of you were waiting for. The Mizora confrontation!

This is also where we'll start to see more of the companion interactions, so I hope y'all enjoy!

Wyll panted as he and the others sighed in relief from Shadowheart's Aid spell. Well, all of them except Karlach, who was laughing to herself as she slammed her flaming ax into the walls of the counting house.

"Well," Shadowheart said as she wiped the 'paladins' blood from her face. "That was… more difficult than expected."

"More difficult?!" Astarion cried. "I almost died. Twice!"

"Ah, cheer up, Astarion!" Gale said. "We survived with all our limbs intact, helped a new companion, and got some very nice loot to sort through. If anything, I'd call this a raging success."

"Says the wizard who didn't even enter the damn room!" Astarion yelled.

Now that the battle was over, Wyll had the time to look over the carnage that was the abandoned house. Anders lay in a pool of blood by the desk, while his companions lay by the back walls. Weapons and satchels were strewn about everywhere, getting coated in a mixture of blood that had come from nearly everyone in the room.

Oh, and everything was also on fire.

Wyll watched in amusement as Karlach joyously destroyed the house's crates and barrels. There was something cathartic about watching Karlach rage and burn, particularly after learning who she was raging at. She did not know it, but Wyll understood what it was like to be forced to do another's bidding. He couldn't rage against Mizora, but he could enjoy Karlach celebrating the defeat of her former master's servants.

He did have questions as to why she was on fire, but Wyll figured he should ask about that after she put down her flaming ax.

Though Wyll, by all intents and purposes, he should have been nervous, the counting house was surprisingly resistant to fire. One of his companions had literally shot a Fireball straight into the room mid-battle, and if that didn't bring down the counting house, Wyll was fairly certain it could handle a few more of Karlach's attacks.

Tav chuckled. Stepping between the streams of fire, they made their way to Cyrel's lifeless body and began pocketing the many potions she had previously attempted to sell them. "Now, now, pale elf," Tav hummed. "The wizard and I don't have much health to go around. It's not our fault you're the one who specializes in sneak attacks."

"Well, I could've used my bow," Astarion growled, "if only our warlock hadn't cast a Darkness spell, blocking any long-range attack! And you!" He turned and pointed a finger at Gale. "Why on earth did you think it was a good idea to cast a Fireball spell into the room?!"

As Gale and Astarion launched into a 'discussion' about the efficacies of fireballs in close-quarters combat, Shadowheart glanced over at Wyll.

"Why did you cast the Darkness spell, Wyll?" she asked. "I understand its practical use, but it did cause quite a bit of commotion for the rest of us."

Wyll began to respond, but Tav beat him to the punch.

"Because," they said, "Anders was whittling down Karlach. Our little warlock noticed, and cast Darkness in a bid to confuse the paladin before he could finish slicing her up." Tav looked Wyll up and down, as if they were sizing him up. "You're lucky that little plan worked. If Karlach hadn't taken him down in the next strike, we would've been overwhelmed before Shadowheart could miss another one of her Fire Bolts."

Now it was Shadowheart who launched into a discussion with Tav, furiously insisting that it was the Darkness spell that had made her miss all of her shots. While all of his companions bickered, Wyll followed Karlach, who was now destroying the barrels on the house's balcony.

Everything was chaos. From the bickering, to the fire, to Karlach's joyous cackling. It was far different to the life Wyll had grown used to, traveling the forests and fields of the Sword Coast. In fact, it reminded him of Avernus, and the non-stop battles that burned with the heat of the Hells. And yet…

If this is truly my last day in Faerûn, he thought, I suppose it could be far worse.

A small, vile voice in his mind told him that it wasn't too late. Karlach was distracted, and she'd started running around the house before Shadowheart had fully healed her. If Wyll timed a spell right, he could catch her off-guard, and finish the job Mizora had given him.

No, he thought. I may be bound to Mizora, but I refuse to let her change me. I won't hurt Karlach… Even if it means the end of me.

Karlach's flames subsided. She saw Wyll behind her, and in a flash, gave him a wide grin.

Without any conscious thought, Wyll found himself grinning back.

Triad, Wyll entreated. Please, give me the strength to keep my word to her. Even when I have Mizora's leash at my throat.

With a hefty exhale, Karlach strolled over to Wyll and hung her ax across her back. Noticing the still-blazing flames on her arms, she made sure to keep a distance away from the man. "Phew. Had to let off a little steam after facing off with those ignots. Granted, the fire's lasting a little longer than it should. How do I look?"

Wyll chuckled. "You look—and I hope I cause no offense—hot."

Ah, so he's a coy one, Karlach thought. "Careful, soldier," she teased. "If I burn any hotter, I might explode."

As if on cue, her engine groaned and burned. The flames around her grew higher, and Wyll blinked as he realized just where that noise had come from.

"Hear that?" Karlach beat a fist against her chest. "Infernal engine for a heart. Lets me burn as hot as the Hells. Seems to be running in overdrive since I left Avernus."

"An engine?" Wyll asked. "How the hells did you get an infernal engine for a heart?"

"High pain tolerance. And a dynamic duo of truly shitty bosses." Karlach sighed and stretched her arms above her head. "But it's a bit early in the story to be getting into traumatic backstories. Let's save the scar-show for later, after we've worked up an appetite for tragedy."

Wyll nodded. "Aye. That may be for the best." He snatched a potion of healing out of his bag and held it out to Karlach. "Here. I'd heal you myself, but that little fight used up all of my magic."

Karlach let out a light chuckle. "Thanks."

Should've known that the Blade of Frontiers was actually a decent bloke, she thought. You don't get the reputation of a folk hero without there being some actual truth behind it.

Karlach knew he must've had questions. Even after what the tadpole showed him. Karlach had questions, too. The man's right eye was made out of stone, which had to have some story behind it. It sounded like he had been tasked by someone to kill her, but Karlach had no idea who gave the order. But the most baffling question of all—why was the Blade of Frontiers, the legend known to hunt down monsters and wrong-doers, a warlock?

But Karlach had asked Wyll to not pry into her life. So she wouldn't pry into his. Not yet, at least. Bloke was damn fascinating.

"Is there anything I can do to help your… engine?" Wyll asked carefully.

Karlach pffted. "Not unless you're a mechanic with a taste for the infernal. Won't be seeing mine anytime soon, so I'll just make the most of the extra heat. Just don't get too close 'til I've found a way to calm it down. I'll need to find someone who can tune up my engine sooner rather than later. Believe me when I say this thing is hot."

Wyll laughed. "I can tell."

"Easy soldier," Karlach said. "The first time I faced down those 'paladins', they let slip that there was an infernal mechanic in the area. He might be able to stabilize things—if I can find him."

"Hmm. Wonder if they met Dammon," Wyll. mused. "He's a tiefling weaponsmith currently at the druid's grove. I spoke to him once or twice, and he seems to know his trade."

"A weaponsmith, huh?" Karlach smirked. "Not sure if he's the guy, but I'd love to find out. A tune-up would do this rusty heart a world of good."

With that, the two of them walked off the balcony. Their companions were outside, surrounded by piles of weapons, shields, and gold. Apparently, in the time Wyll and Karlach were on the balcony, they'd found and looted the counting house's storeroom. A storeroom which had also been booby-trapped.

"There's a few pieces we can make use of," the cleric—Shadowheart—said. "Whatever we don't keep we can probably sell to the tieflings at the grove. I expect they'll be eager to accept whatever gear they can find."

"A solid plan," Wyll said. "Though we should probably let Lae'zel look at these, as well. There's a chance she might want to keep some for herself."

Shadowheart sighed. And almost rolled her eyes. "If you insist on letting the Githyanki get in the way of potential profits, fine. Just don't tell me what she takes."

"A Githyanki?" Karlach asked. "Damn. Never met one in my life, but I've heard they're damn good in a fight."

The dragonborn chuckled as they fiddled with a knife. "Just wait 'til you see her fight. You'll like the carnage she causes."

"I bet I will," Karlach said. "Tav, is it?"

"Indeed." Tav strolled up to Wyll, pointing the knife directly at the warlock's chest. "You have some explaining to do. You go on and on about doing right by the people, and somehow it was me who kept a calm head."

Wyll sighed and hung his head. "You did what needed doing. Besides, you've been witness to a pantomime, I'm sorry to say. And I've played my part all too poorly."

"Uh, excuse me?" the rogue—what was his name, Astral? Astel? Aston?—said. Gods, Karlach was going to need to write down these names. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"It means that a reckoning's coming," Wyll said. "And I'll be the one to pay up. One night soon, when we make camp, the veil will be lifted, and I'll pay my penance."

"Ahem," a man in a wizard robe said. Agh, Karlach would get his name eventually. "Sorry to interrupt, but, penance? Should we be worried at all?"

"You're not in any danger, I promise," Wyll soothed. "I can't say the same about myself."

Karlach's engine rumbled. "Wyll, I meant what I said earlier. I won't ask what you'd worried about, whatever happens, you've got a friend by your side. And an ax."

Wyll chuckled. "Friend, ey? I like the sound of that." At last, he raised his head and looked up at her. "I won't let that faith of yours be misplaced. I see the good in you, Karlach, and I promise not to lose sight of it. Even when the Hells burn hottest."

Karlach grinned. Her engine roared even louder, and the flames against her skin burned hotter.

Did Karlach think that Wyll was serious about a reckoning? Yes. Did she think that it would be as dangerous as Wyll's tone made her believe it would be? Also yes. But did she think that the reckoning would happen that very night?

No! Of course she fucking didn't!

The day had been long enough. It had gone from alright, to shit, to even shitter, to good, to great. Not only had Karlach met the famous Blade who'd been on her tail, she'd also met a group that was as diverse as they were eclectic. Though Zariel's army wasn't exactly uniform, it definitely didn't have a Githyanki shooting dagger at a High Elf from across camp. And that's before she got to the walking, talking skeleton who was casually standing by a canoe.

"I sense there's a lot on your mind," the wizard said as she finished setting up her tent. The wizard—Gale, his name was Gale—handed her a plate of steaming stew. "Here, have some. Though I admit, Lae'zel's cooking isn't quite as good as mine, it might just take second place."

"Spare me your empty compliments, istik," Lae'zel, the infamous Githyanki, spat. "Now that we have another warrior in our group, might I suggest you make yourself comfortable in camp? Tend to the cookpot while we defeat our enemies?"

Karlach snorted and accepted the offered stew.

"Now, now, I meant everything quite sincerely," Gale said. "And besides, it's useful to have a wizard on your side."

Lae'zel growled. "From what Tav and Astarion said, it seems as if I would've been more useful than you today. Alas, I was the one forced to stay, when I could have been slicing those fake paladins into pieces."

"You know, Gale," Karlach said between mouthfuls of stew. "She might have a point."

Gale pressed a hand to his heart. "Karlach! Only one in camp and you've already wounded me!"

Karlach laughed. "I'm only saying that because this is good. No idea what's in it, but it is good. Leagues better than anything they gave us in Avernus. And if you cook better than this, I might help Lae'zel tie you to the damn cookpot."

Gale sputtered. Lae'zel hummed in approval. "It seems I might have finally found someone who makes sense in this Fay-run."

"I think you mean Faerûn," Karlach corrected.

Lae'zel spat something in Gith. Probably a curse. "Never mind. Enjoy the wizard's company. Do something about the warlock. He's been brooding at the water ever since he came back to camp."

Lae'zel walked away, and Karlach searched the camp for Wyll. He was near the firepit, absentmindedly stirring the stew in his hand.

"Gale," Karlach said, "you've known him for longer. What's going on with him?"

"By longer, you mean a little under two weeks," Gale said. He looked at Wyll and shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine, Karlach."

"Well, you must know something," Karlach pressed. She finished the last of her stew—Gods, that was good—and passed the plate back to Gale. "You all connected with each other through the tadpoles, right? What did you see when you connected with his?"

Gale chuckled. "You."

Karlach's eyebrows shot up. "Me?"

"Wanted to hunt you down," Gale explained. "Sounded very insistent on the matter, too. Aside from the whole 'she's a danger to the Sword Coast' worry, which we've now learned is quite false, there was something more… worrisome, let's say."

"Worrisome how?" Karlach asked.

"I might be wrong," Gale said. "But what I felt in his mind, and from what I've heard from him since… It seems that there's someone pulling the strings from behind the scenes." He raised an eyebrow to Karlach. As if the bastard already knew what he was going on about, and was just waiting for Karlach to figure it out herself. "A powerful someone."

"Who could—" Karlach cut herself off. "Oh. Of course. It's—"

A flash of light burst through camp.

Everyone rose to their feet and stared at the source of the light. It was a circle of fire, twisting along the ground. In the center was a thick, dark goo that swirled alongside the flames.

Flames that smelled like those in Avernus.

"Hell's fire," Wyll panted. "She's coming."

Wyll was a warlock. Warlocks, by definition, had patrons. And Karlach knew of one group who loved to make pacts, and were the only ones who would benefit from Karlach's death.

Fiends.

Karlach scowled. She wanted to reach for her ax, but every instinct in her told her it was pointless. If this fiend was powerful enough to be a patron, Karlach would be lucky to survive on a good day. Much less when she was drained from a damn tadpole.

But by the Gods did she want her strength back. Because when the goo took form, and revealed a blue-skinned cambion in a long dress, Karlach wanted to grip her ax and slice the fiend in two.

"Wyll. You've been naughty," Mizora purred. "And you know what happens when you're naughty."

"Gods damn it," Karlach hissed. "Anyone but her."

Everyone in the camp kept their distance from Mizora. They were all curious, but with their current power levels, all it would take is the woman looking at them the wrong way for them to be fucked. The only one who didn't look worried was ol' Boney by the river, and Karlach didn't even want to begin to process that.

"Well, well," Tav purred. "Aren't you a luscious thing?"

Half the camp gave the dragonborn a look that could be quickly summarized as, 'What the fuck, Tav?'

"Oooh. I'm flattered," Mizora laughed. "Wyll, you absolute stinker! You kept me a secret?"

"Don't act surprised," Wyll said. "As if you're not the one who stilled my tongue all those years ago."

"True," Mizora hummed. "But that was then, and this is now. Time to let the hellcat out of the bag."

The cambion looked over everyone in camp. "Call me Mizora," she said. "I'm Wyll's patron, the font of his power. My pet's been unruly—and his leash needs a yank."

With a twist of her hand, Mizora altered an unseen current of magic. It had Wyll clutching at his throat and stumbling forward. On instinct, Karlach rushed to pull him back, but stopped when she realized that there was literally nothing she could do.

Wyll, struggling and gasping, stared at Mizora with a force that could rival the Hells.

"We had a deal, Wyll," Mizora sneered. "But Karlach's still breathing."

Karlach scoffed. "I've taken more pleasant shits than you, Mizora, and at least those can be buried after."

"That's no kind of talk for a lady. By the way, Karlach—" Mizora paused to flash her teeth. "Zariel sends her regards."

Karlach seethed. Shadowheart, who was standing too close to her, had to back away from Karlach's now-roaring flames.

"You told me devils only," Wyll struggled to yell out. "She's—a tiefling. Not a monster!"

Mizora chuckled. "How precious. The little pupster's found his bark." She raised a finger. "Clause G, Section Nine: 'Targets shall be limited to the infernal, the demonic, the heartless, and the soulless.' Karlach meets the criteria by virtue of having no heart."

Why didn't he attack me? Karlach thought. Mizora tricked him, but this was still an order from his patron. For his own sake, he should've at least tried to kill me. Now, Mizora might be able to kill him right now if she wanted. Or drag him to the Hells. Or…

Or worse.

"That's the loophole you've found?" Karlach growled. "Couldn't you have found someone else to help you piss off Zariel?"

Mizora's face went hard. "Wyll, you're in luck. Karlach here seems to have an attitude she refuses to temper, and I'm feeling gracious enough to give you one last opportunity."

"What if we killed you instead?" Tav asked.

"Kill me?" Mizora said. "Ha-ha. I wouldn't recommend it. I die, and Wyll turns into a lemure and gets sucked down right to the Hells."

Everyone went very still. Even Tav. The sorcerer still had bloodlust in their eyes, but their fingers didn't move to grab their staff.

"This is your final chance, Wyll," Mizora purred. "Kill her, and I'll reward like a good little pup."

Karlach looked between Wyll and Mizora. Her feet twitched. If Wyll valued his own life, he'd listen to his patron. And Karlach wouldn't blame him for it. The best she could do was run. If she got far away enough, maybe she could lose his tail. She wouldn't have to fight him, and Wyll would—

"No."

"What?" Karlach and Mizora said.

"I said—no," Wyll growled. His breaths were shorter, harsher. But he still ground out the words. "I won't hurt her, Mizora."

The cambion tsked. "Think very, very carefully—"

"I am!" Wyll roared. "She's an innocent, Mizora. And I'd rather die than let you use me to hurt her."

Karlach was stunned into silence.

Mizora wasn't.

"So be it," the fiend said.

With another swish of her hand, a circle of flames rounded Wyll. The thick goo crawled up his legs, his torso, his arms, all the way until it covered his head. Wyll was forced onto one knee, grimacing as he felt himself—his soul—travel through planes of existence.

Karlach and the others hissed as their tadpole connected with Wyll's. Through the bond, they felt whispers of what Wyll was going through. He was burning in the fires of Avernus. The lightning storms of Dis scorched his flesh. His soul passed through each layer of the Hells, gaining their essence—and their torment.

Karlach gasped as images rushed in her mind. She could hear—feel—Wyll's screams as he was pulled through the Hells. She knew she wasn't sensing it at the same levels as Wyll, but it tore through her all the same. It was anguish. It was pain. And it hurt like all fucking hell.

When the torment finally stopped, Karlach looked up to see that something had changed. As the goo fell from Wyll's body, it revealed a large pair of horns. It was like those of tieflings, but these were single, long half-loops that curled backward and away from his face. His single human eye had changed, too. Before, it was brown, like a regular human's. Now it was dark red, with a pure black sclera. Scars were embedded across his face and neck, as if many beasts had taken their turn swiping at him.

But the biggest change was something else. Something beyond sight. It was the smell.

Wyll now reeked of the Hells.

Mizora smirked. "That's better."

"What the hells have you done?" Wyll cried.

"A promise broken, a price paid," she said. "You know the terms. Get used to the new form, pet—there's no going back. Some magic, even I can't undo. Now. Let's see how the Frontiers fare without their precious Blade."

Wyll reached up to his neck. Felt his new scars with his fingers.

"Karlach. Keep an eye on him, would you?" Mizora said, before turning to Tav and giving them a long look. "I'll be keeping mine on you."

Tav, who had previously been eying the cambion with curiosity, now seethed with… something. Anger? Disgust? Something else?

"Oh, and Wyll?" Mizora added, right as she summoned a circle of flames around herself. "Don't forget. Our pact still stands. Ta-ta!"

With another flash of light, Mizora was gone.

The first person to step forward was Shadowheart. Her hands swirled with healing magic, but she, like everyone else, knew it was pointless. They had all seen what Wyll saw, and they knew that Mizora had been telling the truth.

This was Wyll now. And nothing could change it.

While the others went forward, asking questions, pressing for details, Karlach found herself too stunned to move. This man, he had risked everything for her. By all accounts, Wyll should've been suffering in Avernus, and he knew that. He must have!

And he still said no to Mizora, Karlach realized. I worked for Gortash for years, and the bastard sold me to Zariel without a second thought. Wyll's known me for less than a day, and he… he risked everything. Just so he wouldn't hurt me.

Karlach found herself staring at Wyll. At his camp clothes, which looked old and outgrown. At his hair, twisted into neat rows and shaved at the sides. At his stubble, which was light and just barely visible. This man, a normal man, had allowed himself to be dragged through the deep Hells in the name of a tiefling he barely knew.

Flames flitted across Karlach's skin, but they did not burn with anger.

Where in the world did you come from, Wyll? Karlach wondered. And how did I only meet you now?