Chapter Text
Footsteps echoed through the hall, a dull thudding of boots on stone. Karlach walked slowly, uncertain of where she was headed, but a sense of familiarity gnawed into her bones as she eyed the stonework she treaded across, sharp angles and falling stars. Torch after torch lit her way, throwing her shimmering shadow upon the mahogany paneled walls. No windows did she pass, but the distinct smell of brimstone could still be made, sticking to her hair, her clothes, her skin.
Sweltering heat choked the air like an inferno. Flames swirled up the wood panels, and the mahogany glowed from the embers. Fire seeped like wriggling worms through the cracks in the walls throughout the hall. It lapped up the curtains and danced along into the carpet she followed. They did not burn her, but the scorching intensity was enough to make her sweat and dry the spit in her mouth.
Paintings lined the walls, depicting bloody battles of carnage, suffering, and death, and with each passing painting, the thought of some unforeseen doom oppressed her as she walked. The tiefling found her footsteps slowing, counting each decorative velvet curtain that flanked the paintings she passed to quell the anxieties that knotted her stomach.
But one artwork gave her pause as she endless marched through the empty hallway such that she stopped and stared for a moment. The painting was that of a single man, fair haired and pale skin, staring down into a hole. Karlach could not make out the bottom of the hole, or if there even was one. The colors of the painting were dark and muted, such that the hole bled into the background. Her eyes traveled over the painting, searching for the end, staring into the obsidian as if the yawn of the maw could endlessly stretch. The man looked small compared to the hole. Or perhaps, the pale man with his back turned to the viewer, simply did not belong to the painting. She could not make out a face, only seeing the back of his head. And so she was left to wonder what the man thought as he stared into the abyss. What did he see beyond it? Did he see nothing at all? Was he afraid? And the longer she stared, she found herself wondering if the man would jump.
“Come now, Karlach. Don’t dawdle,” the voice, sharp and sudden with excitement, should have made her jump. She had been alone after all. Certainly, she was sure of it.
She turned her head to face the man that now stood at her side, and she felt her insides heat with warm, welcoming relief, “Gortash.”
He grinned at her, his smile full of teeth. “An audience with Archdevil Zariel is not some trifling matter. We don’t want to be late.”
He hadn’t changed, not since the last time she saw him. No signs of aging, no wrinkles about his eyes or hard lines about his mouth, atop his forehead, not even wisps of grey to count the passing of time. Ten years hadn’t passed. Or perhaps, he merely stopped aging. Anything was possible with him, and it frightened the tiefling not to know.
And yet, Karlach found herself returning his smile. She felt no bitterness, no hatred, no unbridled rage. It puzzled her a moment. Why should she feel these feelings toward such a friend, a mentor? Toward the man she admired, the man she loved.
“Let’s go,” she said. There was a brightness, a youthfulness to her voice that gave her pause, foreign yet familiar, though it came from her own throat.
“Forget yourself, my friend?” He asked, his smile unrelenting. “You look as if you lost your horns.”
Horns? Karlach frowned at the word. And yet, like a puppet on a string, her hand moved without a thought as she brought it up to touch her right horn. Her eyes widened at the locks of hair that grazed her fingers and her breath caught as they curled around the undamaged horn. Her heart leapt to her throat. Her heart, not the clunking and whirling in her chest. Whole, she realized. She was whole.
“Gortash–”
Upon turning to look at him, to cheer and smile and clutch him in giddy relief and excitement, she was alone. Gortash had vanished from her side, and any happy feeling suddenly went with him. Instead, terror anchored into the marrow and chilled her where she stood. Before her now loomed two large, metal doors.
“Go on, pet. Zariel awaits,” came his voice in her ear.
Never one to disobey his orders, Karlach straightened, swallowing against the lump of fear that settled in her throat and stepped forward as the giant doors groaned, announcing her arrival. They pulled apart to reveal the grand hall. It was lined with windows offering a view of Avernus.
“Come, child.” A woman’s voice rang out low and dull as a church bell but immense and overwhelmingly powerful.
Karlach entered the throne room alone and immediately found herself standing before the Archdevil. The flames that lingered in the hall were there in that room too, crackling against the stone yet never spreading. On steps high above the grand hall, she sat upon an ebony throne, and Gortash stood a few steps below her. Karlach could see the smirk that spread across his cheeks, and it filled her with dread.
“As I promised, my lady Zariel.” Gortash turned his back to her to face the Archdevil, “Isn’t she stunning?”
“She will be with proper enhancements,” returned Zariel evenly, passing a glance at Karlach.
And as the tiefling stared into the orange glow of her eyes, she knew–no. She remembered. Her hands shook, and her knees threatened to give way beneath her. Every muscle tightened as her heart raced and broke, “No, no, no, no, no,” she moaned. “Enver?”
But he did not look her way, did not give her such courtesy. If she could see his face, perhaps she might find a morsel of mercy, a hint of regret, of shame. If he looked back at her, she might find sorrow or even an apology. She’d hoped for even less than that. Turn back, look at me! Tell me it's not real! That this isn’t happening! Tell me that we’ll go home, back to Baldur’s Gate, that this is nothing more than a dream. But he never did. She wanted to scream as tears streaked her cheeks and burned her skin, but her voice was lost to her, her body was stone, unable to move as she watched him sell her off.
“Now, little tiefling, you’re mine.” Zariel’s eyes flashed with sudden intensity, and a magic ring of infernal language swirled around Karlach. The magical words were flames that encompassed her, closed in upon her, and when they touched her skin, she found her voice to scream as they burned her, blackening her flesh with Zariel’s name.
She shut her eyes to the pain, to the fear, to the betrayal that seared into her like the brand she now wore. Between clenched eyelids tears seeped, and her throat turned hoarse as she screamed.
“Karlach!”
The voice rang in her ears, a man’s voice, twinged with fear and concern. She knew the voice. It didn’t belong to the pair that loomed over her in the throne room. No, it belonged to Astarion. And as she realized this, with no word or warning, the pain ceased, the burning faded, and the heat of the Hells vanished. Karlach held her breath and slowly opened her eyes.
All she could see was red. It was not the scarlet of her skin as she knew it, with its ridges and divots peppered with small exhaust vents. Nor was it the deep crimson color of blood that steadily streamed and pooled from enemies slain at her feet. Not even the vibrant red of the wildflowers she had come to love matched what she saw now. No, this red was muted, too dull when she considered the fiery Hells of Avernus that she had known for ten long years, yet it was tinged with burnt orange that she could only describe as the color of rust.
Her memory returned to her and somehow without the need of her senses, she knew her body had changed, had reverted back to its current state. The amber glow amidst the red was proof enough.
Karlach could not make sense of where she was, not even certain whether her feet were planted beneath her. The throne room of the fortress was gone along with Gortash and Zariel. She could hear nothing, silence looming over her like a thick shroud. She strained her ears, searching for a sound, a breath, a sigh, even listening for the hum of her engine that sat in her chest. And when she could not hear the burning within her, she felt the blood drain from her face. Panic filled her like a locust swarm, tearing through her nerves and festering in her stomach that she sought to scream, call out for her friends, anyone that would hear her.
She opened her mouth–an acrid, sour taste coated her teeth and tongue and slithered down her throat as she breathed–and her vocal chords tightened as she went to scream. No sound came from her, and the silence remained. Her eyes widened and jaw tightened as she swallowed stiffly.
“Fuck,” she thought as she twisted and turned, craning her head as she looked for a familiar face amongst the ruby rust.
And as she scoured, she caught a shape in the corner of her eye. Shadows swirled and faded amongst the tarnished red, indistinguishable shapes of black smoke that billowed up and outward toward her.
The smoke spirals tightened, contracting and creating a form before her. From the black, she could make out the shape of thick, large wings that flared out from the body that was attached to them. As Karlach watched, the shadow shifted, grew, as if the figure had been originally slouching, and now stood, towering above her. She felt so small, fear twinging like a maggot at the base of her skull, and she wondered if Lae’zel felt this way when she stood before the Lich queen.
Staring at the looming shade, Karlach’s golden eyes narrowed as she focused on the spot where she knew the head to sit between the wings. Her mind whirled with the list of demons and devils that could claim this one’s silhouette, and as her gaze turned over the dark form, fear hung like chains upon her throat and wrists.
The thought crept into her mind, a blaring warning she could not avoid, “Zariel…”
Then two fiery orbs where the creature's eyes would sit flashed with a flaming light. Amber eyes pierced through Karlach, and her engine heated as terror took to her. She turned, finally feeling her feet and the floor and ran. Blood raced through her with every step, her arms moving at her side as she strode to beat the air, all the while all she passed was rust. Shadows lapped at her heels, and all Karlach could think was, “Don’t get caught. Run. Faster!”
She did not look behind her for she knew Zariel. The darkness at her back was there, deep and endless as it swallowed the red. It would chase her until it caught her, and Zariel was relentless. But still, Karlach was determined to last as long as she could, even as her fear ate into her muscles and tainted her blood like poison.
“I’ll outlast you,” Karlach swore despite her fear. “I’ll find my friends. And I’ll be safe from you.”
But then a sharp sting burrowed into her back, tore through muscle and snapped bone. The tiefling tried to scream, but as she pulled the noise from her lungs, her throat, her mouth, it was swallowed by the silence. Her feet staggered beneath her, and she winced as the sharpness held her for a moment before dislodging from her insides, relinquishing her, but taking her blood with it. And as it left her body, a memory came to her, the whip of a lash striking her back again and again as penance for a battle she nearly lost. Karlach groaned, chasing away the memory as she continued to run. But she did not get far as another cut tore through her. This time it carved through her side just above her hip. Karlach stumbled, hissing and groaning against the pain that rippled through her. Another memory came, and she saw the blunt mace before her, the same mace that smashed against her horn and rendered her unconscious for days. Her engine roared within her chest, burning through the memory, pushing her to keep going. She gasped for air and groaned against the pain. This was easier, she reminded herself, easier than what Zariel put her through, the thoughts that became her mantra as she forced herself to keep running.
Another cut came. This one tore through the tendon at her heel. She stumbled and fell, grunted as she hit the shapeless floor. The memory screamed like whistling pipes, and she saw the blade that cut her open, felt the agonizing pain as she was left conscious to feel the surgeon rip her flesh and muscles, snap and shatter bone. She watched as a hand reached in and tore out her heart, bloody and beating, as it was replaced with the engine. The torment was seared into her memory and as she now laid gasping, gagging on spit and blood, the same intensity returned to her. Pressure sat like an owlbear upon her back threatening to pop her bones and splatter her guts. Pain burned bright as the darkness began to swallow her. She shut her eyes, tears spilling over and onto her cheeks.
Her mouth opened, lips peeled back as she tried to scream, “Help me!”
The maw of the darkness enveloped her, and Karlach felt the warm breath upon her ear and the whisper of Zariel’s voice, “Come to me, my pet.”
But then another voice pierced through the shadows, stilling Zariel’s hand that had wrapped about Karlach’s throat. “Karlach!” a male’s voice yelled, “Save me!”
And suddenly, the tiefling felt as if she had been awakened. “Astarion!” She returned the shout, her fear of Zariel dissipating as she thought only of the spawn. In return, the darkness ceased its feast, and in fact, Karlach felt them begin to retract their teeth. Her engine roared in her ears, and her head throbbed and ached as she waited, holding her breath, waiting for an axe to swing. But nothing came. The tiefling allowed herself to exhale and waited a second more. She could not stop herself as she turned, though hesitantly, and looked back behind her.
Zariel was gone. The darkness was gone. And with it, the silence.
The rust before her began to fade as she slowly pulled herself to her feet, transitioning to the pale grey of stone that glistened with a layer of shimmering ice. She clenched her teeth and wrapped her arms about herself, watching as her breath puffed white into her eyes. Taking a step, she glanced about the unfamiliar empty halls, watching as flecks of snow danced from the black maw where the ceiling should be. She shivered, teeth clattering as she looked over herself and realized she was without armor. She was naked, her skin exposed to the frosted halls. She felt no shame in such exposure though she yearned for warmth. How long had it been since she felt so cold? Her engine, though it pulsed in her chest, did little to aid her. Biting her lip, she dropped her hands to her side, curling them into fists. Her hands craved a weapon, and without one she truly felt vulnerable as blood seeped from her back and side, her foot dangling uselessly from her ankle.
“Fuck…” she muttered, rage building in her chest, “Damn fucking bitch.”
Fire sparked, licked up her arms, her throat, and danced in her hair. The memories, the torment, all that she had suffered and continued to suffer at the hands of Zariel flooded like a river released from a dam. She huffed and growled, curling her hands to fists. Just then, groans echoed off the cold walls, and Karlach gasped, her rage cooling. “Astarion!” She called, her engine thumming as a new fear took hold. She could not give in to her ire. Not yet, not while Astarion needed her.
Limping, blood dripping to the stone floor and streaking from her foot that dragged behind her, she rushed as fast as her body would allow. Fighting the agony, she reached the wall and leaned against it, the frost chilling her skin. Grunting and huffing, she slapped her hand against the column and pulled herself forward, rounding the corner to the open expanse of the room.
A man stood at the center of the room with his back to her, his head bent down to glance upon the altar. He stood in the middle of a seven pointed star that was painted into the floor, and in his hands, Karlach saw, he held a book and bloodied dagger. The man with dark hair paid her no heed as she slowly crept within the shadows at the edge of the room. Peering around him, her eyes widened in horror as hers met the crimson of Astarion’s irises.
He laid on the stone altar, bare as she was, and strapped on his stomach, arms and legs stretched out and bound with chains. His brow, nose, and lip were cut, his eyes bruised and swollen. “Karlach,” he whispered, terror dripping in the breath of her name, and the tiefling’s heart broke.
And then his eyes screwed shut. He bared his teeth, and the veins and muscles in his neck clenched. He groaned, and Karlach saw the blood streaming down over his shoulder. The man, Cazador, she was certain, hovered above Astarion and had raised his dagger to his skin. He carved into his back, and red magic glowed from the engravings as the tortured elf’s moans turned to screams.
Karlach did not think, did not hesitate as she limped out of the shadows, her blood strewn across the stone floor. She’d take him, she’d save him. She’d snuff out his pain for good.
“Darling, no…” The word that should be sweet came choked and strained from his lips as he struggled to speak against the agony, “run!”
Tears blurred her eyes again, “Astarion!”
She reached for him as Cazador turned his body to face her. Her blood ran cold as his eyes landed on her and the world slowed to a crawl. The edges of her vision blackened, Astarion’s face fading to dark, and the last she heard was his screams.