Each step forward carried a sense of intrusion, as though the stone beneath their boots remembered a different kind of footfall.
Bare feet.
Soft hymns.
Moonlit processions.
All of it ground down now beneath iron soles and bloodshed yet to come.
William moved with measured care, Widower held low but ready, its blade catching torchlight in dull, hungry glints.
The ambush had broken the silence, but it had not dispelled it.
If anything, the quiet that followed felt heavier.
"Balconies are clear," Lae'zel reported, voice low, eyes never still. "For now."
"For now is doing a lot of work there," Astarion murmured, crouched near a broken statue, peering into the darkness beyond with narrowed eyes. "I'd wager my left boot they're scurrying off to warn the rest."
Karlach snorted. "Good. Saves us the trouble of hunting."
Shadowheart adjusted her grip on her mace, her earlier irritation replaced by something colder, more focused.
The Selûnite iconography had grown more frequent the deeper they went, half-buried reliefs and cracked mosaics staring at her from the walls like accusing eyes.
She refused to look at them directly.
Gale lingered near the center of the formation, his breathing steadier now, though a faint tremor still lived in his hands.
The afterimage of Magic Missile clung to the air, invisible but felt, like the echo of a struck bell.
"Well," he said quietly, attempting levity and failing only slightly, "if nothing else, we've announced ourselves rather emphatically."
Wyll gave a tight smile. "Hard to miss."
They pressed on.
The nave gave way to a branching corridor, its ceiling lower, its walls closer.
The stone here was darker, stained by soot and old smoke, and the torches grew more spaced, their light pooling unevenly.
Every shadow seemed too deep, every corner too sharp.
William felt it again.
That pressure.
Not a presence, not exactly.
More like proximity.
As if something vast had shifted its attention just a fraction closer, enough for him to feel the brush of it against his mind.
His psionic senses prickled, warning without clarity, instincts firing without a clear target.
He slowed, raising a fist.
The group halted instantly.
"What is it?" Karlach whispered, heat rolling faintly off her skin.
William closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, focusing inward.
The sensation wasn't hostile. Not yet. But it was… curious.
"Something's nearby," he said. "Not goblins."
That got everyone's attention.
Lae'zel's grip tightened. "Then speak quickly. If it hunts, I would rather meet it blade-first."
Before William could respond, a sound drifted down the corridor ahead.
Soft.
Measured.
Footsteps.
Not the erratic scuttle of goblins.
These were deliberate.
Unhurried.
Almost ceremonial.
From the darkness emerged a lone figure, robed and hooded, their silhouette framed by torchlight that refused to fully illuminate their face.
Pale skin glimmered beneath the hood, and faintly glowing eyes regarded the group with unsettling calm.
A goblin priest.
But not like the others.
This one stood straighter.
Cleaner.
Symbols of the Absolute carved and painted into their armor with careful precision, rather than crude excess.
Their voice, when it came, was smooth, carrying easily through the corridor.
"Faithful of the false gods," it intoned, spreading its hands. "You tread sacred ground claimed by the Absolute. Lay down your arms, and your deaths may yet be… instructive rather than painful."
Karlach barked a laugh. "You've got jokes. I'll give you that."
Shadowheart's eyes narrowed. "You feel it too," she said quietly, not looking at William but clearly speaking to him. "Whatever's watching us. This thing's not alone."
The goblin smiled, thin and knowing. "Oh, no," it replied. "We are never alone."
The torches flared.
Shadows peeled themselves from the walls, resolving into movement.
Shapes.
More goblins, better armed than the ones before, shields raised, blades ready.
From above came the creak of wood, the scrape of boots repositioning.
A kill box.
William inhaled slowly.
Widower thrummed.
Astarion spoke lightly, drawing his daggers and his eyes shone with an uncharacteristic brightness, even though the danger was palpable. "So," he said, "round two?"
La'zel stepped forward, her hand hovering over her blade.
Her grin was sharp and merciless, her gaze fixed on the attacker. "This one is not going to run."
Gale's fingers began to glow with a vibrant light, and arcane sigils, resembling cold stars, began to bloom around his hands.
He muttered under his breath, "I do hope," he said, "that whoever is listening in the heavens appreciates initiative."
With a raised hand, the goblin priest made a decisive chop that echoed with the same force as an axe hitting a tree.
As she lowered her hand, a wave of surrounding goblins surged forward, while a few strategically positioned others held their positions, ready to unleash a volley of arrows upon the intruders.
William shouted, "Take defensive positions, quick! Quick!" As his words echoed in the air, an arrow sliced through the air, creating a thin, crimson line across his cheek before slamming into the stone wall with a resounding crunch.
In direct response to the ever incoming rain of arrows both mundane and magical in nature his eyes flashed with mana and he pressed his hands together forming a dense ball of pure shadow magic between his palms.
"Suck on this, you bastards!" he let out a defiant cry, pushing his open palm against the orb.
The orb instantly split into two, identical orbs, which then shot out in opposite directions.
The orbs collided right where the archers stood, crashing between their feet and sending up thick, swirling clouds that temporarily but effectively blinded them.
Astarion had a smirk on his face as he saw this and yelled out, "Karlach... Throw me!" He dashed towards her once she turned towards him, and she, in response, placed the trident into the ground and Astarion stepped onto its surface.
"Go, Astarion!" the tiefling yelled, her voice laced with excitement as she lifted the rogue high above her head.
With the trident raised like a bat, she swung it with all her might, sending Astarion flying upwards towards the dark, shadowy cloud that appeared on the left side of the room.
He vanished completely into the darkness, swallowed up by its shadowy depths, just as a raindrop might disappear into a still lake.
Down below, the very first goblin had already engaged the group in combat. Lae'zel met the attack with a swift and brutal sweep of her greatsword, the blade striking the goblin with a deafening crack and severing it in two. The impact sent a spray of blood and gore flying, while the blade then engaged the other goblin's weapon in a shower of sparks as the two clashed.
Wyll parried an incoming scimitar forcing the goblins blade into the ground under its own momentum before stabbing the goblin in its neck.
Karlach roared with a raw, primal barbarian intensity, her trident clutched tightly in her hand.
With a mighty heave, she hurled the deadly weapon, the prongs extending out like razor-sharp teeth.
The trident, propelled by her incredible strength, arced through the air at speeds that were far beyond the comprehension of most living beings to perceive.
SHNNNK... CRACK!
The trident, with its sharp prongs, became deeply embedded into the side of one goblin, causing the creature to fly backward in a violent motion before it was impaled on the rough temple wall behind it.
"Hahaha fucking love it!" she exclaimed, pulling her trusty battle-axe with a grunt from behind her back and lunging straight into the group of goblins as they moved towards her.
Up above the sounds of deadly blades carving into unprepared goblin flesh is heard, and one of the goblin archers falls from high above before slamming into a nearby fire pit, causing it to scream in pain before succumbing to the burning and blood loss.
Astarion emerged from behind the clouds of darkness, his eyes gleaming with hunger as he held a female goblin archer firmly by her neck.
He stated, "I normally wouldn't concern myself with you goblins, but I am absolutely famished at the moment!"
He then proceeded to sink his fangs into her neck, causing her to let out a bloodcurdling scream of agony.
It felt like an eternity to Astarion, but in the blink of an eye, the goblin's kicks and screams abruptly ceased.
Her body instantly went limp. With a wet squelch of tearing flesh, Astarion tore her throat out, and then dropped her.
Seeing this from across the room two more goblin archers cried out in rage and anguish before turning their weapons towards Astarion.
Astarion had time only to leap behind a nearby pillar before two arrows shot past the point he previously stood and the rogue sheathed his dagger before equipping his short bow and knocking an arrow crackling with electric energy.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he focused his attention, his mind centering as he muttered, "Now or never!" The moment arrived, and with a side leap from the safety of the pillar, he launched the electric arrow mid-air.
Whoosh... CRACKLE!
The arrow struck precisely between the two goblin archers, and instantly, it ignited into a massive fan of electric energy.
This powerful surge of energy reduced both of the goblins to smoldering husks, their flesh rendered unrecognizable from the intense heat.
Meanwhile, a high-pitched whine echoed through the air, not from their throats, but directly from the agonizing burns that consumed their bodies.
William shouted out a challenge to the nearby goblin priest, then charged into the midst of the ongoing battles, his eyes fixed on the goblin priestess, whom he recalled as Priestess Gut.
In response, the priestess unleashed a powerful surge of divine energy, channeling the strength of her god and extending her hands towards her guards.
The hands glowed with a soft but intensely powerful golden light.
Her guard roared in unison as the golden glow surged into their bodies and if one looked closely enough they could make out the slight tensing of muscles as if they were repositioning for optimal attack damage.
With the Widower in hand, William clashed with the nearest guard, who blocked with a well-timed slash of his scimitar, locking him in place as the nearby guards circled with predatory grace.
"Four against one, huh? I like these odds." William parried the scimitar with brutal grace he learned from training with the reflection of Lae'zel and brought his blade down on the creatures' wrists.
The goblin's scream tore through the corridor, raw and animal, pitched somewhere between agony and fury.
Both severed hands hit the stone with wet, meaty thuds.
Blood sprayed in frantic arcs as the priestess staggered back, clutching at empty air, her golden glow flickering and collapsing like a candle snuffed mid-prayer.
"HERETIC!!" she shrieked, voice cracking, rage boiling through the pain.
The guards did not hesitate.
They charged as one.
Steel flashed from every angle, scimitars and spears striking in overlapping arcs meant to overwhelm, not duel.
William barely had time to wrench Widower free before the first blow came down.
He parried one blade, twisted aside from another, sparks screaming as metal kissed metal.
A shield slammed into his shoulder, knocking the wind from him.
He ducked a spear thrust by instinct alone, the point grazing his hair.
Too many.
Too close.
A boot caught him in the ribs with brutal force.
CRACK.
The impact lifted him clean off his feet.
William slammed into the stone and skidded backward, armor shrieking against the floor as he slid to a stop near the base of a shattered column.
Pain flared hot and sharp through his side, breath tearing from his lungs in a harsh rasp.
Blood ran down his temple, warm and sticky, dripping off his jaw.
For a heartbeat, the world rang.
Then William laughed.
A low, breathless sound at first.
Then louder.
He pushed himself up on one elbow, teeth stained red as his grin widened.
"I like that," he said, voice rough but delighted. "I like that a lot."
The shadows answered.
Not just the ones cast by torches or broken pillars.
All of them.
William's own shadow peeled itself off the stone like living ink, stretching and swelling.
The darkness pooled beneath the guards' feet, crawled up the walls, bled out of cracks in the ceiling.
Even the goblins' shadows seemed to betray their presence, twisting and contorting as if they were being pulled and tugged by an unseen, almost magical force.
William drew his hands together, palms open, not forming a spell so much as inviting it.
With a sudden, powerful cry, he uttered, "ARMS OF HADAR!" His voice resonated throughout the vast temple, and it felt like the void within the structure itself responded, answering his call.
The air imploded.
From his very core, a wave of pure, unadulterated shadow surged outward, exploding with a silence that was both terrifying and utterly catastrophic.
It's as if the temple itself was beginning to warp and collapse under the sheer weight of the encroaching darkness.
Darkness descended upon the charging goblins from every possible angle, striking them head-on with such force that it sent them sprawling onto their backs, flattened their armor, and ripped weapons right from their clutches.
Bodies hit walls.
Stone cracked.
The goblins screamed in agony and terror as the void ripped through them, leaving behind bleeding gashes and shattered bones. But then, with a snap back into place, the void vanished, leaving only a terrifying silence in its wake.
When the darkness receded, the corridor was a ruin.
Guards lay scattered, groaning or twitching, blood pooling beneath them.
Torches guttered violently, their light struggling against the shadows that still writhed and clung unnaturally close to William's feet.
He rose to his full height, Widower humming in his grip, shadow still coiling around him like a living mantle.
Across the chamber, Priestess Gut stared in horror, her own wrinkled wrists shaking as she imagined the blade cutting through her aged flesh, golden light flickering weakly as it tried and failed to answer her prayers.
William met her gaze through the blood and smoke.
"Your turn," he said calmly, and stepped forward.