Chapter Text
The cloudy skies were low-hanging and angry. City lights paint the undersides in muted gray and purple strokes. The wind's high-pitched whistle screeches a banshee's song to warn of an encroaching storm. It was shaping up to be another typical October night in the Pacific Basin. Heavy raindrops plink against the windshield. Their beads obscuring Enver's vision before he swept them aside. Releasing an exhausted over another day done, yet it is hardly over. He punches the button to open the garage door and pulls inside. The buzzing of his cellphone earns an exasperated grumble. He swipes to answer it without checking the contact.
"Shit, he does answer the phone."
Enver contemplates disconnecting the call to spite them, but the voice continues, "Wait. Hear me out before you hang up on me."
"So help me, Balthazar. If this is another, pathetic attempt to beg for money to fund your illegal experiments..."
"No, no. Nothing like that, though if you are offering..."
Enver ends the conversation in retaliation. But the offensive thing illuminates and vibrates with a vengeance. He answers it despite his better judgment.
"Most people consider it rude to cut someone off mid-conversation."
"Get to the point, or I'm hanging up and blocking your number."
"So much charm in one package… it's a miracle you ended up married at all."
"Balthazar," Enver warns.
"Fine!" Balthazar mutters, then clears his throat. "Ketheric has made headway regarding our Absolute A.I. project.”
Enver is silent. Both hands tighten on the steering wheel, unable to believe what he is hearing. "Are you certain of this?"
"I am. In fact, I will be sending the findings via email. You may find its contents…fascinating." Another vibration from the phone signals that the system has received the email. He swipes to open the message. Scanning the details, timestamps, and notes. A few video files document their progress, but one preview image piques his interest. Showcasing a huddled adult woman. Her dirty, tangled blond hair covers an angular face but exposes a pair of long, pointed ears.
"What the..this is…" Enver pauses, gathering his thoughts from the absurdity of it all. This cannot be real. Elves are fiction."Where did you find her?"
"Now I have his attention."
"It’s amazing what competence can earn you," Enver quips in response. "Now answer my question, Balthazar."
He gives an exaggerated sigh, then says, "I found her. Though 'gifted' may be a more appropriate term. Having a part-time police officer for a colleague has its perks. Their volunteers for my medical research have been invaluable."
"You are rambling... and my patience is waning."
Another long sigh. "Once we began to prep her for the Illithid chip, she spoke in a confusing manner about coming for the traitorous chosen. Whatever the hell that means, repeating this until insertion, then went as docile as can be. Our most successful test subject yet… or so we thought.”
“I assume it went as well as the others."
“Worse, her body must have rejected it. The videos document the whole thing, a gruesome affair to say the least. The good news is we have invaluable data on the possibility of life from another world. But… we may have lost contact with the specimen.”
Enver drags a hand through his dark hair in frustration, the other clenches around the phone in agitation, doing all he can to keep his composure. "You and I have very different definitions of what making headway means, I fear. Do you have any idea of the severity of this mistake? The funding we will lose… Fuck! We're never going to financially recover from this.”
"Don’t worry your pretty little head over it. I'm confident my sources will be able to locate and retrieve her by the time you return from your absence. With the utmost discretion, of course.”
"I should hope so. Now if there is nothing else to discuss, I am taking my leave; I have a party to attend.” Enver could not help his dry response. Wanting nothing more than to spend the evening in his workshop restoring one of the many antique cars that await patiently for his return. A rather lucrative venture that duals as an outlet for this exhausting career path.
"Don’t get too excited about it; have a good night and happy Halloween!" Balthazar says before the swipe on his phone cuts him off.
Glad he can always count on Balthazar to make his job ten times worse. Adding to the mounting list of violations he intends to hand-deliver to his boss, Bane. At least now he has enough ammunition to get him fired for good. Enver slides out of the driver's seat. He plugs in the electric car and steps through the threshold, pushing down his growing discomfort.
The manic, loud cackle of a hyena assaults his mood. Karlach Cliffgate...lovely... An ex-employee of his who has made it her entire life’s mission to be the thorn in his side.
"Lu, hold still or you're going to get glitter all over the couch!"
"Are you almost done? My legs are killing me in this position."
Enver clears his throat, now suspicious of what Karlach was up to. "Do keep your mess to a minimum. That couch is worth more than the meager wages you make these days."
"The dickheads are popping up everywhere this time of year, and look! A particularly ugly one has graced us with its presence."
Enver opens the cabinet, rummaging for coffee filters. Scooping the fragrant grounds into the pot, he says, “Do you speak to your parents with that mouth?" He flips the switch and savors the rich maple aroma of the hissing brew.
"Fuck you, Gortash." She takes a makeup brush and chucks it towards his head. Groaning in protest from missing her mark. "You know they have been dead for years!"
He could not care less. Piercing feline cries echo through the kitchen, rising and falling like ambulance sirens. Two fuzzy creatures saunter in, their urgent meows a duet of hunger and impatience. They slither and wind, coating his dark trousers. Brushing against fabric and leaving a furry trail. Each pass deposits more hair, transforming them into a fuzzy canvas. Their mission: thorough coverage, no inch left untouched. Coming to a rest at the food bowls, awaiting their nightly tribute. Squatting down he scratches both Steel and Watch under their chins and opens the can.
"Oh my gods, he actually has feelings!" Steel's gentle headbutt warms Enver's palm, but Karlach's biting sarcasm cuts through the moment. "Where did you keep them when you decided to fire me? Wait, I know, probably up your ass alongside the giant Zariel-sized stick.”
He does not reply to her rudeness. Instead says, “I played no part in her decision to let you go. Your bleeding heart overruled your common sense, and you vandalized my office as a result. Complain to H.R about it not me.”
"You wouldn't read to my emailed grievances. So, I had no choice but to act. Humans are not lab rats for your A.I. experiments!"
"And setting fire to my research was an extreme waste of time and effort. I backed everything up to a hard drive that is well hidden from your clumsy hands."
A pair of red plastic devil horns peeks over the edge of the couch. "Is it too much to ask for you two to get along for one night, please?" Lucid stretches and drapes her bangled arms along the black, overstuffed couch. Thick auburn waves tumble around her. Tinted lenses transform her pupils into slits, cat-like and eerie. Making the artificial hues amplify her natural green irises. Her outfit's deep red fabric dips provocatively, accentuating her sinful curves in a daring neckline. The plunging V draws the eye, highlighting her feminine allure and stirring up all sorts of naughty ideas. Sipping coffee, he stomps down those thoughts. Not now, not with Karlach eyeing him critically. Her disapproving gaze lingers as he focuses on his drink.
"Can I help you?" Enver says over the rim of his coffee mug. Refusing to yield to such scrutiny.
"Enver..." Lucid warns, "be nice."
"I’m always nice, my dear," he gestures with his mug, "she's the one being barbaric."
At this point, Karlach’s entire posture turns defensive. Crossing her muscular arms inked with intricate midnight blue swirls and lines. Her attire matched perfectly: worn ebony leather and straps, a faux battle-axe swinging at her side. Atop her head, raven tone braids crowned her fierce ensemble. He savors the coffee with a smug grin. His keen insight proving to be spot-on once more. Barbarian indeed.
"So help me, I don’t pummel you into the dirt."
"I wouldn’t recommend it… you are at a severe disadvantage, I fear." Enver’s eyes dart to the door opening across from them. A disheveled and sleep-deprived Valafar shuffles out. Their shoulder-length, pin-straight hair matches their ghost-like complexion. Eyes, altered to a muted crimson by contact lenses, fixate on Enver’s coffee mug. Pure lust that could boil the contents from its intensity. He hands the mug to Valafar without hesitation. Only a fool would stand between this man and his coffee. His costume choice is perfect; dragons are very possessive.
“Rough night?” Enver asks.
Valafar takes a long sip, the movement causing the makeshift wings of his costume to bob. "I never went to bed.”
"That doesn't surprise me. Another rabbit hole for your podcast?"
Valafar hums their acknowledgment. "Green River killer…that’s some gnarly shit right there. It's too bad that Orin couldn't be bothered to help me, so now I'm stuck writing and researching the whole thing.”
“I will never understand why you associate with her. She might be your sister, but good gods, she is a menace to your sanity.”
“Eh, she isn't so bad once given a task she enjoys doing. In fact, she can be more productive than me.” Valafar trails off.
“Except when she gets a wild hair of an idea to pursue another creative project of her own, then she abandons you. Proving my point, Valafar.”
Of course he doesn’t listen and proceeds to change the subject. Giving a pitiful mewl towards Lucid and Karlach, “How much longer until we can go? I am starving?”
Lucid saunters towards Valafar, her costume unleashing a mischievous imp from within. With a roguish grin, she snatches the mug from their grasp. "Let's not overdo it on the caffeine for a change; this is your third cup today. If you're hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge.”
"Wait, I thought this party was going to have food?" Valafar inquires, attempting to swipe the coffee back without success.
"I'd steer clear of meals not prepared by Gale or Shadowheart," Lucid quips, flashing an apologetic smile at Karlach. "No offense, hun."
"None taken. Ask me to teach you self-defense, easy peasy. Ask me to fry you an egg and watch me burn the house down.”
At Karlach's request, Lucid resumes their spot on the couch, finalizing preparations. Meanwhile, Valafar attends to the insistent cats. Offering appeasing ear scratches before turning to reheat leftovers. The scene unfolds in a flurry of domestic tasks and feline appeasement.
Enver slips away to the bedroom. He tidies up and checks the email in silence, savoring this moment of solitude. Observing the oldest footage, he studies the peculiar woman's actions as the video begins. Balthazar had said that the Illithid chip worked at first. She seemed so docile, sitting on the bed and staring at the wall above the headboard.
Then he hears the monotone drawl of the test administrator asking, "Can you tell me your name? Where are you from?”
Her vacant gaze pierces the silence. Fingernails rake flesh, leaving angry welts on bronze skin. Rocking, she mutters an eerie mantra. Enver strains to hear, cranking the volume. The whisper grows clear: "Failed you, father. Forgive me. Must kill... kill them all." Blood seeps from self-inflicted wounds as her lips move in haunting rhythm, a broken soul trapped in endless penance.
Another question from the administrator: “How are you feeling today?” Again, no response, the same mannerisms, the same phrase spoken. The scribbling of notes before the clip ends.
The overseer gave a command for her to eat in the second video. A test to see if the chip would enforce the order, but the woman stares at the untouched meal. Suspicious, prodding at the roast chicken, broccoli. And potatoes. Sniffing and sampling each item one by one. With predatory swiftness, she devours her meal, eyes locked on the administrator. Her vigilant gaze and voracious appetite showcase a lifetime of struggle. Enver tenses as her left hand twitches, gripping the dinner knife. In a blink, the blade vanishes from sight.
The final video promised to be more insightful than its predecessors. The same test giver from the first video is present, asking once more her name and where she is from. At first, she lay on the bed unmoving; the only sign of life was the steady rise and fall of her chest. The test giver attempts to stand next to her and verify her vitals. It would be the last thing she ever does. A violent eruption shatters the stillness. The woman springs from her bed, ensnaring the administrator in a vise-like grip. Limbs entangle as they crash onto the mattress. Frenzied stabbing ensues, flesh rending with each savage thrust. Blood flows in abundance as the attack rages on. Coating her face and hair. Gore drips in thick slimy wet strands, sliding down onto the desecrated bedding. Bones crack and flesh rips as she gleefully mauls the helpless woman. Her savage delight crescendos with each sickening blow. Making a bloody mess. She leaps nimbly from the bed. In one fluid motion, she slices off the woman's hand. Using the appendage's fingerprint, she unlocks the door and flees.
Enver closes the email, trying to make sense of it. Without a name or background, he can only make assumptions. The gruesome scene he witnessed confirms his worst fears: a monster has been set loose upon the city, and he has to trust Balthazar to do his damn job.
***
Puget Sound’s mood was far from amicable, much like his own from the moment they parked. A ferry ride of this length is usually pleasant and relaxing, but tonight it had been an experience. An omen if one believes such things. Waves splashing over the sides buffet the cars, coating some in sheets of slippery seaweed. The ship's violent lurching churned Valafar's stomach, his earlier meal threatening to reappear. Despite the turbulent journey, they ultimately arrived intact at Port Townsend's harbor.
The rush of wind through the evergreen trees roared like a river during the spring melt. Gravel crunches underfoot. Valafar's hooded costume offers protection, while Lucid shivers violently. Her teeth are chattering with such intensity that they risk fracturing. Stubborn woman. She would rather suffer in silence than admit her folly.
Her absent grandfather's care likely made her independent but distrustful. Regardless, he was not about to let her freeze to death. Swiftly, he envelops her in his military coat, gold buttons clicking shut. A quick kiss silences her protest. Though she feigns indignation, her flushed cheeks betray her. She grasps Valafar's hand, quickening their pace. A decade together, yet his effect on her remains potent. To call it endearing would fall short of the truth.
A brickworks castle, bleached and faded from the years near the salty coast, lay in wait before them. Though it is hard to tell at this late hour. The dark rooftops covered in a greenish film of mildew, a normal occurrence for this region. The onset of marine fog into the area swirled and shifted from the push of wind. Taking on a life of its own. Washing out the warm yellow glow of the Victorian-style street lamps. As they pass by the manicured hedgerow, Enver pauses, falling behind the group. A figure darts out and away outside of his peripheral vision.
“What's wrong?” Lucid asks, stopping mid-step.
Enver does not respond to her, continuing to stare into the yawning void. Searching for the answer. What was it he saw a moment ago? For a second, the memory of the video he watched flashes back to him. Stabbing over and over in a relentless barrage. Absolute carnage.
Enver peers into the shadows one last time, doubt gnawing at his mind. He scolds himself for entertaining such fanciful notions. The likelihood of encountering that creature here is infinitesimal. His workplace, a research facility, sits miles away in downtown Seattle. Shaking off the absurd idea, he turns and rejoins his companions.
The receptionist melts under Lucid and Enver's charm, her pink fuzzy pen scratching out a hasty discount. Key cards clink as she passes them over, along with a business card bearing a cryptic number. Lucid's fingers graze hers, accepting both it and the unspoken invitation. The young woman's eyes sparkle with possibility as the pair saunter away. Their smooth talk still echoing in her ears. Check-in now complete.
Embracing Lucid from behind, Valafar chides her in a gentle tone for toying with the hapless woman. Lucid's feigned innocence crumbles as she acknowledges her misdeed. Though she refuses to apologize. Instead she proceeds to carry their bags upstairs, yielding to Valafar's gentle reproach all the same.
“You two are dangerous together, you know that? The front desk agent didn't stand a chance," Valafar says. Their voice echoes off the stone walls in the stairwell.
Enver’s own voice reverberates as they make their way upstairs. “Nonsense, she had every opportunity to deny our requests. It’s not our fault she chose to break the rules in our favor.”
While he did not see it, he knew Valafar was rolling their eyes. “Hardly a choice when you have her—" he points at Lucid sashaying up the stairs ahead of them, “practically throwing herself at the receptionist.”
“Is this an actual concern for the young woman’s well-being, or something else entirely? Enver asks a genuine question in his statement."
Valafar's voice drips with annoyance. "Just keeping things running smoothly tonight. Can't afford another blacklisting because some cheap bastard bullied a granny into footing his bill." He sighs, muttering under his breath, "Damn penny-pinching troublemaker."
Enver halts, meeting Valafar's defiant gaze. Those artificial red eyes challenge him, daring contradiction. He fires back, "That 'cheap bastard' keeps a roof over your heads. Show some gratitude, would you?" His words hang in the air, sharp and biting.
Ascending a step, Valafar draws level with Enver's gaze. Their faces hover inches apart. Sandalwood and amber waft from Valafar's skin. Fingers tangle in Enver's hair, grasping tightly. The gap vanishes. Soft lips meet, igniting a delicious warmth. They part, breathless and panting, hearts racing from the passionate exchange.
Valafar pulls away and says, "How was that for gratitude?”
They both stood there as still as death itself. The lights flicker. A high-pitched whine rises as wind gusts intensify. Raindrops assault the lone window, framing turbulent waves beyond. Heralding the next tempest's imminent arrival.
Lucid, now at the top of the stairwell, shouts down at them, “Are you two alright? I heard a loud thud and a scream a moment ago and thought it was one of you two.”
The enigmatic message ruptures their bond. Perplexed, they seek answers from Lucid, but are left with more questions than answers. Then a jester-clad woman, silver bells jingling, rushes by Lucid only to collide with Valafar. He stabilizes her, receiving a mumbled apology as thanks. Her worried expression lingers as she hurries downstairs, leaving behind a wake of confusion and unease.
The ballroom buzzes with Halloween spirit. Plastic bats and glowing ghosts hang from archways. Guiding guests down a short staircase. Wood floors stretch modestly, flanked by tables and chairs. Miniature pumpkins dot black-draped tables, where a crystal bowl brims with fruit punch. Floating within, gummy eyeballs peer out at partygoers, a whimsical Halloween treat. Lucid, a whirl of polyester and tulle, darts away from Enver and Valafar toward the second table. Leaving them behind in the festive chaos.
Shadowheart stiffens as arms encircle her, then softens. She deftly persuades Lucid to assist with last-minute tasks. Bending over the spread, she sweeps her nuns habit aside. Smoothing down her ebony gown and adjusting the plastic cross to avoid contaminating the meal. Her nimble fingers work swiftly, ensuring everything is perfect.
They were soon joined by the rustle and sway of purple wizard robes as Gale brought out another plate of food. Brushing his hand over Lucid’s and enticing her closer to him. Feeding a sample of the meal he must have prepared. The sounds she made should have been illegal, and certainly not because Gale induced them.
Enver tenses, ready to charge, but Valafar's grip on his arm holds him back. A head shake warns against rash action. That lecherous professor, hands always wandering where they shouldn't be. No surprise that his wife left him. Enver yearns to whisk her away, far from unwanted advances, but restrains himself – for now.
Astarion's purring drawl fills the air. His arms drape over Enver and Valafar, breath reeking of alcohol. The contents of his cup sloshed dangerously as he interrupted their impending conquest. "My friend, I'd think twice about that. As her nearest and dearest.-"
Enver slips away from Astarion, his voice low and measured. "Choose your next words wisely," he warns, each word carrying weight. The plastic fangs and crimson contacts mirror Valafar's. His white-blond hair, carelessly tousled, echoes his devil-may-care demeanor. A white poet shirt and snug black pants complete the look—more haute couture than Halloween.
Astarion swirls the contents in his cup and says, "Alright, settle down, no need for the theatrics. She isn't my type.” His gaze shifts to Valafar, pausing, then licks his lips. "But you, on the other hand, are a sight of delightful beauty.”
Enver intervenes, unfazed by Astarion's sulking over the obstruction. Meanwhile, Valafar is absorbed in his smartphone. Unaware of the scene unfolding around him. Resigned, he concedes, "Alright, I'll abandon my pursuit and save the maiden instead. Heavens above, am I the only capable one around here?"
“Don't be dramatic; you prevented me from intervening, remember?”
Astarion strolls toward Lucid and Gale, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm doing you all a favor, really. Another useless ramble? No one has the patience for that nonsense." His casual demeanor veils the sharp edge in his words as he joins the pair.
The storm's fury peaks. Lights flicker, then die. Darkness descends, thick and oppressive. Uneasy shuffling fills the silent void. Windows rattle against howling winds. A scream pierces the air, followed by a sickening thud. Enver's blood turns to ice. A voice, rough and menacing, breathes against his ear: "I finally found you."
Kick-starting his heart into pounding a loud staccato against the confines of his chest. Protesting the unsettled silence. Cool air ghosts itself along exposed skin, raising hairs. Imprinting a feeling of foreboding, like a scar upon his soul. Fear of the unknown, the unseen. The first step towards absolute terror. Yet here he stands, curious and cautious, ready to conquer fear in pursuit of discovery.
Light floods back, revealing a macabre exhibit. A lifeless form sprawls on the floor, its jester costume torn and blood-soaked. Purple locks intertwine with mutilated skin. The victim's face bears a perpetual shriek. Bewildered guests encircle the grisly spectacle. Wasn't she the woman who collided with them earlier? How could she still be here? Valafar's gaze remains locked on the horrific sight. His mind wrestles between morbid curiosity and self-control, yearning to inspect the rapidly chilling remains.
A pitiful moan draws Gale's attention. His face turns ashen green. He mumbles an excuse and flees, hand over mouth. Enver scoffs, unsurprised. Gale's early tenure meant hands-off studies and little life experience. Though academic equals at graduation, their resolve shows a significant difference. Enver's determination promises success where Gale falters.
Then a timid question shatters the train of thought. Full of disbelief and shock. “Alfira?...ALFIRA!”