Prototype's Gate

Alex slowed his fall by grabbing onto the jagged stone walls of the tunnel, his fingers digging into the rough, cold surface as he descended into the dark abyss. The fight with General Ketheric Thorm had pushed him to his limits, forcing him to unleash almost everything he had. A small, twisted part of him couldn't deny the thrill—the rush of power coursing through his veins as he nearly went all out. Yet, now, in the aftermath, there was no time for reflection. He had a reason to be here.

As he slid further down, he used a blob of slime to mold a chunk of stone, sealing the tunnel above him with a makeshift cork. It would slow down anyone who dared to follow, buying him precious time. His descent came to an abrupt halt when he sensed three minds below. One flickered erratically, like a dying ember. This person was either on the brink of death or enduring unimaginable mental destruction.

With a subtle movement, two pairs of spider-like legs sprouted from his back, their dark, chitinous surfaces gleaming ominously in the dim light. They extended outwards, gripping the tunnel walls with delicate precision, allowing Alex to descend slowly, carefully. When the tunnel opened into a chamber below, he stopped. The rough stone floor of the room came into view, littered with stains and debris. A small eyestalk emerged from his shoulder, curling downward as it peered cautiously into the chamber.

What he saw would have driven a lesser man to madness.

The room was a grotesque tableau of suffering and death, the very air thick with the scent of decay and blood. The stone walls were slick with dark, congealed blood, smeared in haphazard streaks and patterns, as if someone had been flung against them repeatedly. Torture devices of cruel design were scattered across the room, their metal surfaces rusted and stained with the evidence of their frequent, brutal use. Iron maidens with gaping maws stood like silent sentinels, their spiked interiors glistening with fresh crimson. Chains hung from the ceiling, still swaying slightly, clinking eerily in the silence. There were two piles of skulls in one corner, their sizes varying from the small, delicate skulls of children to the robust ones of adults. The grinning skulls seemed to mock the concept of mercy.

In another corner, a heap of severed limbs and organs formed a macabre mountain, buzzing with flies and crawling with maggots. The body parts were stacked carelessly, like discarded refuse, their owners long since forgotten. The stench was overwhelming, a mix of rotting flesh and dried blood that clung to the nostrils and choked the breath.

But the most horrific sight was at the center of the room. A wooden surgery chair, aged and splintered, stood under a dim, flickering light. Strapped to it was Minthara, the drow warrior, completely naked. Her once fierce and proud demeanor was shattered. Her head was grotesquely opened, the top of her skull removed and set aside on a blood-streaked tray, revealing the delicate, glistening folds of her brain. Her body twitched uncontrollably, a puppet with its strings cut, as two deep gnome that looked similar ,gleefully poked and prodded at her exposed brain with thin metal instruments.

They giggled with twisted delight as they triggered violent spasms in Minthara's body, watching in sadistic pleasure as her limbs flailed, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Their hands, tiny and nimble, moved with sickening familiarity over the brain matter, as if this act was nothing more than routine for them. From time to time, they would glance at a wooden post beside them, covered with detailed anatomical drawings of various races, their eyes gleaming with perverse fascination.

Alex’s mind churned with rage and disgust. He had seen horrors before, but this—this was something far more depraved. Even Gentek labs looked like a children playground compared to this . Two thin tentacles emerged from his arm, slithering silently across the stone ceeling, and as they neared the gnomes, the flesh peeled back to reveal sharp, needle-like stingers. Without hesitation, the tentacles struck, piercing the gnomes' skin with deadly precision. Their giggles turned to gasps of shock as the lethal venom coursed through their veins, and they collapsed to the ground, twitching and frothing at the mouth before falling silent forever.

Alex dropped down from the tunnel, landing with a quiet thud on the blood-streaked floor. He approached Minthara with a deliberate, measured pace, his eyes scanning the room for any other threats. His arm shifted into a blade, glinting dangerously in the dim light as he raised it over Minthara’s exposed brain, ready to end her suffering.

But just as he was about to strike, her glassy, doll-like eyes suddenly focused on him. In them, he saw not just pain, but a desperate plea for salvation.

"Please… save me," she whispered, her voice fragile and broken. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

Alex's resolve wavered for a moment, but then he made his decision. He would not let her die like this. It wasn't logic and he know that , he was acting on emotions , saving her didn't bring him any benefit but he would save her .He consumed the gnomes , their memories flowing in to his . A wave of revulsion and fury surged through him as their sickening thoughts and memories invaded his mind. It took everything he had not to burn the entire chamber to the ground in a fit of anger.

Instead, he knelt beside Minthara, his hand hovering over her exposed brain. Small, flesh tendrils extended from his fingertips, creeping over the damaged tissue, repairing the grotesque wounds inflicted by the sadistic sisters . The delicate work was slow and meticulous as he reconnected severed nerves, restored damaged tissue, and closed the gaping wound with precision. He retrieved the top of her skull from the tray, sealing it back in place as if it had never been removed.

Next, he extended a finger and placed it gently into her mouth. A liquid began to flow down her throat—a concoction of chemicals designed to speed up her healing process, counteracting the brutal surgery she had endured. He scanned the room, spotting her armor carelessly thrown on a table, next to a dismembered human leg. The sight fueled his anger, but he pushed it down. With delicate care, he dressed her unconscious form in her armor, protecting her dignity as best as he could.

"I will be back," Alex whispered, his voice low and filled with grim determination. His body began to compress, shifting and reshaping until he took on the appearance of one of the sisters, his form blending seamlessly with the grotesque surroundings.

With a final, cold glance around the chamber of horrors, Alex left Minthara to rest, her body safe for now. He was not finished here—not until every last vestige of cruelty in this place was eradicated. And this time, he would not show mercy.

Leaving the gruesome chamber behind, Alex carefully stepped around the thick trail of blood that streaked across the floor, leading from the staircase on his right to the very room he had just exited. The scent of copper lingered in the air, mingling with the damp, musty odor of the dungeon, creating a stench that clung to the walls like a malevolent presence.

As he entered the hallway, his gaze swept across the dimly lit space, searching for any signs of movement. The cold stone walls of the dungeon were lined with old, rusting chains and empty cages that dangled ominously from the ceiling. Bones and dismembered body parts were scattered across the floor, pooling in congealed blood that had long since dried into dark, sticky patches. It was as if the entire place had been plucked from the darkest corners of a nightmare.

Three adepts were nearby, their presences faintly felt in his mind. Two stood like statues before a sturdy wooden door up ahead, the entrance to the docks, their postures stiff and alert. The third adept moved through the hall with a cautious gait, patrolling the area with methodical steps.

The patrolling adept briefly glanced in Alex’s direction, a shiver of awareness passing between them as their eyes met. But just as quickly, the adept averted his gaze, an expression of indifference masking any suspicion. From the gnomes' memories, Alex knew that the other adepts feared the sadistic sisters, avoiding them whenever possible. Their malevolent personalities were too much even for their twisted comrades. It was this fear that now served as his disguise.

Turning left, Alex ventured deeper into the prison, the oppressive atmosphere growing thicker with every step. Chains clattered softly above him, swaying from the ceiling as if in mourning for the lives lost here. His eyes flicked to the far left to a severed tentacle still clinging to the stone wall, the wound where he had cut it with the devastator already sealed, leaving behind a gruesome stub.

In the center of the vast chasm that yawned before him stood a stone platform . A large iron funnel, stained with dried blood, jutted out from the platform, a grotesque contraption where the twins discarded the bodies of their broken victims. The platform was connected to a towering stone structure by a narrow wooden bridge, the tower itself stretching upward until it disappeared into the dark recesses of the cave ceiling. The tower being connected to the rest of the prison by a narrow wooden bridge

To his right, carved into the stone, were the cells—a grim row of dark, dank cages where the prisoners were kept. Another adept patrolled this area, his steps accompanied by a scrying eye that floated eerily beside him, its unblinking gaze surveying the area. Alex felt the prisoners' fear as he passed by each cell, their despair palpable. Those who dared to meet his eyes quickly flinched away, their faces twisted in terror. They knew that even a moment of attention from one of the sadistic sisters could mean death.

Alex’s heart sank as he counted the number of prisoners, at least a hundred, their faces gaunt and hollow, their bodies battered and broken. Most of them were simple folk—farmers, villagers, people who had been caught up in this nightmare through no fault of their own. He scanned each cell until he found what he was looking for.

There, locked away in the farthest cells, were the tieflings. Their condition was appalling; they were filthy, their bodies covered in grime and riddled with wounds, but there was a fire in their eyes that hadn’t been extinguished. They were wild, like cornered animals, but they had not yet given up hope.

As he observed them, Alex overheard a whispered conversation between two of the prisoners. A tiefling woman, her face smeared with dirt but her eyes fierce, leaned close to a man beside her.

"I will get us out, Cal. I promise," she whispered, her voice trembling with determination.

"We will," the man responded, his voice a low, steady rumble of solidarity.

His mind raced with plans, formulating a dozen strategies to get them out of this living hell. Each scenario played out in his thoughts, considering every possible outcome. He had come here with a mission, and he would see it through—no matter what.

With one last glance at the determined tieflings, Alex turned his gaze to the tower . He was ready to take the next step, knowing that the weight of their lives now rested on his shoulders. This prison would not be their tomb.

As Alex passed by another scrying eye, its malevolent gaze briefly flickered over him before it returned to its monotonous surveillance. He stepped into the tower with a calm exterior, masking the storm of intent churning within. The stone walls of the tower exuded a cold, oppressive air, and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the stagnant air. He could hear the faint clinking of chains in the distance, a constant reminder of the prisoners languishing in their cells.

Inside the tower’s in contrast with the rest of the prison it was well lit and clean chamber, the Warden—a tiefling woman with sharp features and a no-nonsense demeanor—sat at a desk cluttered with papers. Her horns curled back elegantly, but there was nothing elegant about the hard, calculating look in her eyes. As she noticed him entering, her gaze lifted, locking onto his with a piercing intensity.

"Jasin," she addressed him, her tone tinged with annoyance. "What do you want?" Clearly, she wasn’t pleased to be interrupted from her work.

Alex, maintaining the facade, offered a slight bow, his hand subtly moving inside his robe. "I found something very important on the drow I was interrogating," he said, his voice steady.

Before the Warden could react, Alex moved with blinding speed, a knife flashing from his hand, aimed directly at her head. To his surprise, the Warden’s reflexes were sharp—she dodged the lethal strike, her body twisting out of the blade’s path.

A thick cloud of darkness exploded into the room, swallowing the chamber in an inky void. Alex smirked in the shadows, despite the darkness blocking his sight he felt the Warden’s mind closing in on him, her presence like a predator stalking its prey. But Alex had anticipated this. He opened his mouth wide, exhaling a fine mist of spores into the confined space. The air filled with the microscopic particles, their invisible tendrils seeking out their target.

He could hear her movements falter, followed by the sound of coughing as she struggled to breathe. The sound was music to his ears as it quickly turned into a desperate rasp. Within moments, the Warden's body crumpled to the floor, the darkness dispersing to reveal her spasming form as the spores worked their insidious way through her system.

Without wasting a second, Alex moved in, his body crouching low as he approached her. The dark flesh tendril within him surged forward, and he consumed her swiftly.

As he wiped the remnants of the Warden’s life , the door to the chamber creaked open. An adept entered, his gaze sweeping the room with suspicion.

"Hope you have a good reason to interrupt my work," the Warden’s voice—now Alex’s—growled with irritation.

The adept stiffened, clearly taken aback by the unexpected reprimand. "I’m sorry, Warden," he muttered, his head bowing in deference before he quickly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.