Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

Candles with small flames like raindrops of yellow heat slowly consumed their wax-like fuel. Sinister, pitch-black shadows stretched and shrinked along the posterior wall in sync with the soft, flickering lights. Yet… there was no fear of horrific things that might be lurking in the dark corners of the room. No pulsing beat in his ears, no chill freezing the back of his neck. Nothing. Nothing at all.

The boy who had become a man stared at the darksteel throne decorated with scorched black skulls and other grotesque adornments. To any other, the throne would have screamed of curses and evil, just like any other repellent relic. But to him… oh no, to him it seemed a monument to wealth, to legacy, and to power.

Sweet… silky smoke curled through the hollow orbits and cracks of the skulls, tendrils of whatever gas it was shifting like icy ghosts. It swirled upward and flirtatiously beckoned him closer, inviting him to take a seat.

Go on…

Delicate, metallic chains jingled softly against his intricate, silver-black chestplate as the boy who was now a man took a step forward.

Claim what is your rightful future…

A black, polished boot took another soundless step, pausing momentarily on the first stair of the dais.

That’s it… your legacy awaits you…

There was no hesitation in his movements, only deliberation, a slow, purposeful stride. Squinted eyes, black as pools of ink, held the throne in their piercing gaze. A faint vibration played at the corner of his lips.

Another gift…

Tendrils of silvery-gray smoke curled and danced in his direction, expectant and thrilled to welcome him. A cold, sinister smile now tugged at his mouth, distorting his handsome face but without diminishing its cruel allure. Slowly, he bridged the gap between an old life and a new, his smile frozen in a rictus of death.

Any observer would sense an ominous premonition, a feeling of misfortune clinging to his very presence.

Become acquainted and let it accommodate you…

The moment he sat, the smoky tendrils surged forward, caressing his wrists and fingers like lovers’ hands, then curling back to the throne as if sealing him to it.

Now… invite me…

The only thing that changed in his stance was the slight tilt of his head. But within, more profound interactions stirred. A familiar presence seeped through his skin, pouring into his being like liquid shadow. His lips parted slightly, releasing a sigh of deep contentment. Not one of joy or warmth, but something darker, like the pleasure of devouring power itself.

You feel it… the combined power…

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Nonetheless, he provided an answer.

“Yes…I do…”

The words echoed, and the flickering lights dimmed. A strange shimmer rippled across the room, and the air grew cold. His gaze shifted instinctively to a tall, ornate mirror standing at the far end of the hall.

From it, two glowing red eyes pierced through the reflective surface like molten embers in a void.

Then -She- emerged... Her stunning form appeared on the other side of the glass, standing tall and poised, her gaze sharp enough to flay a soul. A succubus, an exquisite, hellish beauty cloaked in curves and equipped with danger. She radiated temptation, her every movement oozing seduction and malice.

“Excellent,” she purred, her voice a velvet blade. “The throne of your father, and all those who came before him, is now… yours.”

She observed him with a mixture of pride and cold amusement as she perched herself on a throne of her own, carved into the reflective world of the mirror. The designs mirrored his, yet hers exuded an even darker, more ancient authority. Smoke billowed around her feet as she crossed one leg over the other, her nails -long and sharp as razors-, tapping softly on the armrest.

“You’ve done well, my boy,” she continued. “But your final gift awaits. The one that will enkindle the heritage slumbering in your blood.”

Her fingers moved as if tracing invisible sigils on the air only she could see. A pulse of magic rippled from the mirror, and she extended her hand toward him, not across the room but definitely through the glass.

“Close your eyes, my handsome...” she whispered, her voice a honeyed command.

He did so.

You know why I’ll never betray you…

He raised his hands, blindly mirroring hers, as if the surface of the mirror and the distance across the room were no barrier at all.

The corner of her lips curled slightly as she watched how he complied before closing her eyes as well.

Suddenly, a warm, moist pressure touched his forehead, the kiss electric and ancient. Her nails pierced his wrists at the same time, drawing blood. He mirrored her actions, their blood mixing and uniting as it smeared against the invisible barrier of…of…

Was it glass?

When she withdrew her hands, both their wounds began to close, the skin knitting itself seamlessly until no scar remained.

He opened his eyes to find her watching him intently.

As he stared into her glowing red eyes, his face began to change. Or to twist? His jawline sharpened, his features softening into an androgynous, otherworldly beauty. His nails lengthened into elegant, razor-sharp claws, and blood seeped into the whites of his eyes until they gleamed a haunting crimson. Power awakened within him, coursing through his veins like a fresh unleashed storm.

Her lips curled into a smile, cold and approving.

That’s it… that’s my boy…

He turned his gaze to her, the diabolic smile on his face widening. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

The demoness leaned back in her mirrored throne, watching him with a predatory gleam. “It is your ascent that begins now. Do not disappoint me.”

The tendrils of smoke surrounding him twined tighter, binding him to his new destiny.

From beyond the mirror, his grandmother’s laughter echoed, a sound that promised triumph, and terror… in equal measure.

She gazed at the man before her, in the reflection of her mirror looking into this world. He was the culmination of a demonic covenant that had bound him even before his first breath, a bond forged by her own will, blood, and ambition. He was not merely her Offspring but in a way her creation, molded with deliberate care. He was the legacy of what she once shared with the only mortal she had ever spared in her entire existence.

No… not spared. Chosen.

It had been generations ago, yet the memory remained vivid. Only one man had proven himself worthy, his defiance and strength intriguing enough for her to indulge. Not that their union had lasted long; a mortal's life burned out in the blink of an eye compared to hers. But even in that brief flame, she had allowed his seed to take root, planting it deep within the dark sanctity of her infernal womb. She had carried it, nurtured it, and ensured that the bloodline thrived, weaving her influence into every generation that followed.

Her crimson tongue flicked out to moisten her lips as she studied the young man. The resemblance to his ancestor was striking, though she’d perfected this iteration far beyond the mortal limitations of the one who had sired it. If she hadn’t known exactly who and what this man was… if she hadn’t orchestrated every step of his life… she might have lured him to her bed as she did with so many others.

But no, not this one since he was her Offspring.

The second male to emerge in five generations, and by far… the most promising. He was a living testament to the triumph of her craft, far surpassing his forebears, including his foolish, witless father. That man’s only significant contribution had been begetting this remarkable creature sitting before her now. For that, he had earned her grudging acknowledgment, if not forgiveness.

Her lips curled into another smile, this time tinged with pride, as she watched the young man’s eyes glint with newfound understanding.

He had seen her in her full, unfiltered glory, and yet he did not flinch. He could gaze upon her now without trembling… a feat only possible because she had sculpted him to withstand such magnificence. Oh yes… his body was hardened, swift, and unyielding, but his mind was a reflection of her own cunning and ruthlessness. And his soul? Ah! His soul had been her masterpiece, shaped through endless trials until its very essence teetered on the edge of demonic perfection.

She had stripped him of weakness, burned away the useless dross of humanity, and reforged him in the crucible of pain, temptation, and forbidden knowledge. He was immune to the petty lures that snared lesser men. Women who sought to melt his heart or twist his desires would find themselves thwarted at every turn. Still, she felt a twinge of jealousy… not for them, but for herself. She could never have him, not in the way she might have wanted. That was the one rule she had bound herself to: protect her Offspring, but never breed with it.

However…

Her fingers trailed lightly along the armrest of her dark throne as a wicked thought bloomed. Watching his rise, witnessing him carve a path of destruction and ambition through the mortal world… would be its own satisfaction. Perhaps more satisfying than any fleeting physical union. She would guard him as he walked that path, not out of sentimentality but out of pride. He was hers, after all.

Her tongue brushed across her lips again, seeking the phantom taste of something absent. A small irritation gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. A desire. Soon, she would need to feed again.



He looked up at her, the being who had shaped him, elevated him from a life in the shadows and molded him into what he was destined to become. She had been more than a mentor. She… had been a forge, tempering him with fire and hammering him into a weapon.

Her methods had been cruel, relentless, and exacting. She had shown him how to annihilate a life, whether through brute force or the delicate art of deception. He had learned to inflict pain, to wield fear as easily as a blade, and to recognize the intricate dance of power and submission. She had tested him mercilessly, using herself as both teacher and obstacle.

Other children would have hated her for it, but he had never been like other children. Her punishments were sharp and swift, but her rewards… oh! Her rewards… were exquisite. Each time he surpassed her expectations, he earned her approval, her pride, and something far more intoxicating: the knowledge that he was her favorite creation.

His cold smile widened as he relaxed into the throne, his hands draping over the armrests. The ancient entity in the mirror before him had once been a figure of unattainable power and mystery. Now, she was his partner, his equal, at least in the bond they shared. As he let the magic take root, he could feel her essence entwining with his own, wrapping around his soul like silken chains.

Black magic, they called it. A corruption of the Weave. Fools. They didn’t understand. This was no mere corruption; it was ascension, evolution! Through their covenant, he would gain power beyond mortal comprehension. The energy coursing through his veins now was only the beginning. Soon, he would master the rites that would make him unstoppable.

And yet, he understood why her trials had been so brutal. His demonic blood, awakened now in full, it surged within him. Without her lessons, he might have fallen victim to more basic instincts, siring unworthy offspring or succumbing to the mindless lusts that plagued lesser beings of his kind.

He recalled one particular trial, watching her as she indulged in the carnal pleasures of mortals, forbidden to act on the desires that burned within him. She had punished him harshly the first time he faltered, presenting him with a woman he could not touch. Over time, he had learned to suppress those urges, his rewards growing more satisfying as his control deepened.

Now, he was numb to ordinary temptations. He didn’t crave intercourse; he craved conquest. He wouldn’t give himself to just anyone. He would take, and only when it suited him.

As the ritual concluded, the energy within him solidified, binding him irrevocably to the succubus before him. Death itself could not sever their connection. He could feel the demon within him stir, awakened at last, and with it came the realization of his purpose. He was ready, and lesser souls would tremble before them.